Headlock
by Rattlecat
Summary: Why should one make another a priority, when the other makes one only an option? It seems pointless, the whole definition of love.
1. Can You Keep A Secret?

This idea came to me with my new Transformers love of my life 3 Forever, it seems now. And so, whether or not you find it make sense (Including you Redd), I encourage you to read it. If only to do so. 

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**Headlock**

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**Chapter 1:**_ Can You Keep A Secret?_

Why should one make another a priority, when the other makes one only an option? It seems pointless, the whole definition of love. Why the entire world seems to base themselves around it, dream themselves in it, point themselves towards it is beyond me. I was never one to love, even though I have had my fair share. I found it an uncompromising situation. You may of been able to make him happy, but it left you feeling weary and disappointed in yourself for your actions, while he carried on. And then it was vice versa when he dished out mountains of cash for something you would care little for in future years. Each passing day and event caused disappointment in one side or the other. It was not a balance; in fact it was a scale that was tipping from side to side wildly like two children on the see-saws. Both wanted up, but when one went up, the other came down. There was no compromise unless you both decided to stand on your tip-toes and allow the board to balance out between you---but where was the fun in that?

I found my love was sought elsewhere, or moreso I made it seem that way. There are many men who wish to be with me, many of those who honestly believe they are fit to be mine, or perhaps they've some plan in their deep recesses of empty space that will leave me moneyless, or friendless, or something with the words that ended in 'less'. My love, in my mind however, belonged only to the trees outside of my cabin, the plants that dwelled in my windows, and the felines that pranced on my banisters. My love was expressed among each living creature that did not resemble human, although traits may of been similar. I did not suffer as a single woman or man who thinks of others while they are together. I did not have that ever so painful longing of wanting to walk the streets with an individual opposite or very like myself. I wanted to remain the lone one on the path, discovering things on her own, at her own pace, with nothing more than nature and what she has created, and a notepad to jot that history of creation down at her side. My friends were quite valuable to me, and I loved them all dearly so, but never so much, no matter their gender, to consider ever the words of 'relationship', 'love', or 'marriage'. Such things seemed irrelevent in my life.

But long ago there seemed to be a saying that was coined, a saying that said "Expect Nothing", or "Nothing Ever Goes As Planned", or something to that effect. Well, I'd kept up the promises for eight years now to myself, why should I believe someone who states that, when I'm very well aware that my path depends on my actions, therefore I am both cautious and risky when I am in need of entertainment or a change? I shouldn't, and I wouldn't.

But unfortuantely, even I have suffered from my own cause of rude awakenings, and this one is still pushing about in my head. I cannot tell where it started, or where it would end, let alone if it had even been a part of my story for long. But I do know that it was somewhere during the time when I had decided to walk along the forest about a mile from my cabin. I know it was somewhere during the time when I had accidently come across a rather abandoned looking vehicle in that forest. I'm not one for vehicles, I personally use my own horses and carriages to get me to the nearest town instead of polluting the environment as most do daily. But for some reason I felt as if I should of stopped, maybe if only to draw it. Sitting there, it looked almost artistic, like those strategically placed statues in the museums. It's green paint camoflagued almost majestically with the forest around it, and I couldn't help but stop and notice it. And so I sat down and began sketching.

From there, I am still sketching. I didn't start with an outline of any sort, or any tutorial or guideline. I just drew what my eyes saw. Looking down at the sketchbook as I sit at my desk now, I have to ponder about it. I had finished the sketch really, and was beginning to ink it. With every line I inked, I became more aware of something that I really shouldn't be keeping secret. Sometimes I wonder about secrets, who I can trust them with. Secrets tempt you to tell someone else, just one person. But I can surely tell you.

You know nothing about me and yet we seem to know everything about each other. We are like hounds who are able to take one whiff of the air and realize everything about each other. Where we came from, where we are, where we wish to go...so perhaps I can tell you. Yes. I can tell you, my fellow hound. I can tell you as long as I can ask you the question. Can you keep a secret? I certainly hope you can, for I can no longer keep the secret to myself. And now I must entrust it to you, until I can at least figure out why I started the sketch with random lines and no outline of such as I normally do. So I must tell you. I must tell you that somewhere, it started with that seemingly old and abandoned jeep.

Can you keep a secret? 

I'm in love.


	2. Clear The Area

**Crystal Shekeira: **Ah! You couldn't be more right my friend. It does involve Hound. In fact, here he is now:D

**Redd:** I already told you why I pinpointed you in chapter one. As to who's talking, you'll just have to wait and see.

* * *

**Chapter 2:** _Clear The Area  
_

* * *

It seemed almost like flying. Temporarily at least, where your equilibrium was temporarily disabled, and you were temporarily off the ground, your feet temporarily disabled from being your support. But only temporarily. That was how most things became in this life, even life itself seemed only that. Temporary.

After the temporary disappears however, you're left with what seems like it should be permenant. So it was only then, after Hound had lifted his feet off the ground to lunge, that he flew, and temporarily, he continued to fly, until he landed ever so gracefully on the soil beneath him. He glanced around, his air intakes spinning rapidy as he attempted to calm down. There were no longer any hands around him. Claws, hands, whatever they were that bore the symbol of a Decepticon's wrath were no where to be seen. He glanced around, and noticed that his sight did not lead him far. He was in a thickened forest, where vegetation was lively and the sounds of distinct and unimaginable lifeforms filled the atmosphere.

All at once he felt calm, as if he had never returned or disappeared from the battle. He stepped cautiously, always looking down and around to ensure he stepped on nothing and killed nothing. He had ran once on an errand for Optimus Prime, the leader of the Autobots, and was devastated for a week after accidently hitting a mother fox. He had planned to keep the four babies that had followed her, but was only slightly relieved of his pain when he saw the father retrieve them from her care. He still felt the wet blood on his wheels when he returned home, and weeks after. It was unusual for a Transformer to even care about things like that, but out of the few of them, Hound had grown immensely attached to the world he inhabited while fighting this war. He was impressed and intrigued by everything that existed here, and to be the reason for its death was more than depressing for the jeep.

He stepped between two large oaks slowly, wincing when a branch scrapped paint off of his hood, leaving a streak of steel in its stead. They creaked as he passed, and he looked noticed a bird's insistent chirping at him from above. It was strange that this particular forest was taller than even he was. Most forests were nothing but tall grass for some of the Transformers, and to the large cities, they were nothing but freshly cut grass. He investigated the reason for the bird's chirping, and found it was due to him damaging the branch it sat on.

"I'm sorry about that..." He said to the bluejay as it flittered about. He gently picked it up with a hand, noticing the three eggs inside, and placed it on a branch similar in height that was more than good enough, attached completely to the tree. The bluejay continued to chirp, but after Hound's hand left the nest, it landed, and went back to its business protecting its young. Hound smiled and nodded a goodbye, before turning around. There were bushels of flowers everywhere. They were so colorful that one didn't need to wait for the rain to see a rainbow. He kneeled a bit away from them, and leaned closer, studying. They were of impressive size. Spike had shown him a few sunflowers they called large, but these were immense. They had what looked like little bits of teeth around the edges of their leaves, and he wondered what they were for. He pointed a finger at them, squinting slightly and moving it closer to the center of the flower. Before he even touched it though, something heavy moved in the forest behind him. He turned on reflex, yanking out his gun and aiming it behind him. He listened intently, increasing the volume on his audio sensors. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

For a scout, his senses were highly acute, and he was known, at least from Spike and Sparkplug's knowledge that he was as acute as any clever creature that was on this Earth. Hound always modestly chuckled at that notion. Surely, he couldn't be anywhere near as interesting as these lifeforms were. They had to have been better than him. He glanced around again, this time standing and looking about the trees. Still nothing. He turned, and midway through, something impaled him from behind, and from the sensors that registered pain, it was about half a meter away from nailing his spark directly. He grunted, and remained frozen, his circuitry freezing in order to assess the pain and find a quick solution. He summoned the strength from somewhere to look down, and saw the glint of silver; the end of a sword extending from his left headlight. A heavy object leaned forward onto his back, pushing the sword further through, and he was forced onto all fours, his head pressed against the tree overlooking the flowers.

"I told you I'd catch up to you." A thick voice penetrated the sounds of the forest. Motormaster grinned over Hound's shoulder, and pushed harder on the scout. Hound grunted against the pain and forced himself to stay up. The bluejay from earlier chirped rapidly; Motormaster had hit the tree with his foot, causing the tree to uproot slightly from the ancient soil. The tractor trailer snarled, and waved it away, but with each wave, the bluejay continued to flitter about him. Hound chuckled slightly.

"W-What's wrong, Double M? Don't like b-birds?" He fought with his internal systems, trying to get them to unfreeze, trying to tell them, although they didn't have personalities of their own, that he'd get Ratchet to look him over later.

"I told you not to call me that!" Motormaster yelled and pulled back, wrenching the sword out of Hound, who emitted a yell of his own and arched his back as he was pulled back with the force. The truck rose and grabbed the bird with one swipe of his fist, and the fragile bones snapped instantly, along with the disgusting release of red fluid most of the lifeforms on the planet carried. Hound froze, the sound penetrating his inner thoughts. His mind flashed to the vision of him swerving on the road, nailing the mother fox on the side, and without warning, he too heard the same cracking of bones.

Motormaster slammed into the tree, and Hound shouted again angrily, launching himself onto the Kensworth. A fist came in contact with his face as he tried to hit Motormaster, and he hit the ground. He quickly stumbled to his feet and lunged again, this time shoving his gun to Motormaster's arm and firing. It shot through, leaving a hole of burnt and sparking wires in his shoulder. The giant transformer glared at Hound, and attempted to snatch him. He missed, and the scout was running. He faltered every now and then, trying his best not to stomp on anything, but he was sure whatever he missed, Motormaster would find and kill. He dashed past a set of trees and the sun blinded him as he found himself on a dirt road. Both sides led off onto a sweltering horizon, the forest seeming endless on either side. He bolted as Motormaster exploded from the forest, the familiar sound of transforming as he hit the ground harshly, his engine gunning. The truck's pedals, if seen from the inside must of been engraved into the floor as it raced after Hound on the road. Hound transformed and was nailed in the tailgate by Motormaster's grill. The Stunticon laughed maliciously as he nailed Hound again, who was beginning to run low on energy.

Hound swerved from side to side, each turn daring him to flip over on his chassis, but he continued to do so, aggrivating Motormaster since the truck couldn't turn as swiftly. In the distance, the road promised a deep curve, and Hound sped up. Trucks couldn't always keep up with him. And he'd be in for a real beating if he was caught under Motormaster's wheels. He veered into it, and the Decepticon laughed, nailing him in the rear, but it soon melted as he failed to change direction as the jeep, causing him to slam into a section of trees. Hound deviated, trying to straighten himself, but his right axel had been damaged and he wound up disappearing into the forest himself, coming in contact with a tree and lodging himself between it and another plant of some strange origin. His engine cut out, and a hissing of fumes escaped the hood as he popped it slightly.

Motormaster transformed, and crawled out from the forest onto the road, stomping hard into the gravel and dirt. He scowled as he glanced around for the jeep, but could see no sign of Hound anywhere. The tire trails took off left and right, and the ends of them simply mended into another trail, causing his whereabouts to become unknown. Gruffly, Motormaster turned to his good arm and pushed a heavy purple button beneath the armor. There was a flash, and then, nothing.

Hound's sensors kicked in, assessing the damage once again. He groaned as he attempted to transform, failing. He attempted to shut off the sensors, to save some sort of energy, and in trade, turned on a small red light located next to his steering wheel. It beeped steadily, and Hound settled down, hoping it'd reach the other Autobots in time. Thirty minutes in, the beeping died, the last bit of energy seeping from the emergency supply. An hour in, Hound shut down, with nothing more to confirm it other than a small click and silence.

"Prowl, Report!" Optimus Prime shouted over the ambulance's shrill sirens. The Datsun stepped up to him, carrying a datapad in hand. The two of them watched as the remainder of the Autobots cleaned up the debris from the four storage buildings. EMTs shouted to one another as they carried stretchers, retrieving the wounded and dead from the seen.

"Apparently, the Decepticons were using the materials here to enhance their ability to teleport; the same stunt they pulled last Earth week. The energy sources here would of given him an unlimited amount of power, enabling them to teleport anywhere in the world. For now, it's just within the vicinity of the state." He replied to the big rig. Prime put his hands at his side, and sighed heavily.

"Megatron must of used that mechanism that lets Skywarp teleport." A black and white porsche pulled up beside the two, and transformed. Jazz glanced at Prowl, his visors glistening in the sunlight. Prowl nodded to him quietly. They continued to watch from the ridge. Below, they caught wind of someone shouting.

"Hound!" Cliffjumper leaped over a large section of the enclosure onto a piece of contrete. He slid down the slab and onto the ground, glancing left and right. He made a face as he stepped into what was left of one of the storage buildings, but continued his search. Mirage followed shortly after, finding the red Autobot sifting through some fallen rock.

"Any sign of him?" Cliffjumper shook his head. Mirage frowned. The both of them had heard the distress signals an hour ago, but that was when they were still battling. Now that the Decepticons had retreated, they'd begun their search, trying to find out where the jeep was located. Unfortuantely, the location scanners that were to accompany the distress signals were most likely damaged, making the search difficult, and stressing out the 'bots with the knowledge that he was out of energy. Prowl approached Mirage, transforming from his vehicle mode.

"What's wrong, Mirage?" He blantly inquired. Mirage turned to him from Cliffjumper.

"Hound's gone missing. He sent in a distress signal, but his location is unknown." Prime listened to the soundspeaker as Mirage spoke to Prowl. It was evident he was frowning.

"Jazz."

"Yeah, man?"

"Take Mirage and Cliffjumper, and find Hound. Prowl."

"Yes, Prime?"

"Clear the area."


	3. Oh Me, Oh My

Alright, just to quickly clear something up, this actually doesn't pertain to the history of Transformers at all. According to my story, the Transformers became "Reactivated" in the year 2005, hence, they are still "news", since this takes place about nine years in the future. So no, there is no movie of death or anything like that. All the information about Transformers (the comics in the stores, the TV shows) are all up to date as if they were created in this generation, and not in the 80's.

* * *

**Chapter 3:** _Oh Me, Oh My  
_

* * *

_If one were to observe and be specific about my personal tastes, and mypersonal interests, one would say I take planning as the top most priority. Most of my life has been dedicated to planning, and most of my life has been dedicated to those simple or complex things. It was twelve years before I finally came to a perfect and final decision for the log home and farm I have to this day. It was eight years before I finally decided to raise cats and horses, mostly cats. And then it was another four years before I had decided to pick a final name for myself and for my fellow felines and equines._

_ I was always prone to make these plans because I was tired of everyone else doing so for me. I was tired of my father always being in charge of my job and my income period. I was tired of my love life threatening to ruin my dreams I'd had, and I was tired of unreliable people. The world is full of unreliable people, and it's rather disgusting if anything. Even in the unstable events of 2001, people were unreliable. You were only reliable if you knew you were being paid a good bundle of money, or you were getting something you always were dying to have. It made me think of a world of Starscreams if anything. Doing whatever it would take to get your way, and biding your time until that moment came where you could swipe it with one simple catch in mind: someone else suffered for it, or if worse, died for it. Too bad for them, a Starscream would say. This world is full of Starscreams._

_I was quite aware of Transformers in the years I lived on my own, with my only company being my felines and equine. I'd dreamt of it for years, and I'd finally had it. What more could I want? I had my likes and dislikes, and when I was into it more than others, it was called an addiction, or an obesession. That's always how it was. That's always how I had wanted it to be. But I didn't expect, nor had I planned for the Transformers to become a part of my personal life._

For as long as the Transformers had remained dormant however, in the volcanoes of Oregon, a state below my own, we'd thought nothing more than of aliens as sickly green creatures in flying space ships, so it was quite a shock when we found out they could be robotic as well. That idea only existed only in comic books. And they weren't as hostile as most would think of aliens, unless you accounted the Decepticons, who were, by word of the Autobots, the evil ones. Trying to take over our world, steal our energy; as if we didn't have enough problems with energy as it was.

I admit I had a collection of classic cars, and I grew fields of corn on twenty of the fifty acres I owned in the state of Washington. I took the cars for their beauty, and I took them for weekly rides to ensure nothing that infected an idle object over time did so. I switched their engines and their gas tanks around, customized them to the perfect effect, so that they ran on the ethanol I could produce directly from my corn fields. No need to waste time at the gas station, and the only price it cost me was a small tax expense from the government who continued to try and overpower me and the rest of my kind. But more or less, it was interesting that yet another force from another world was trying to take our energy sources. I loved it. Finally...something new to see in the newspapers. Something worthwhile. Something that actually resembled those good movies I'd watch when I was eighteen. Something personal.

* * *

Brahms grunted, whinnied, exhaled, blubbered, and strut his stuff as he pulled the carriage down the streets of Durham. He pranced diligently and with fashion, his head high and proud, even though if one asked him, he would of replied he was doing nothing of the sort but being his natural self. Calm, peaceful, and doing his job. His job of carrying the four lovely Siamese and their supposed owner, a female of twenty-four, along with an enormous bundle of plastic bags filled with all sorts of goodies, upon which one feisty feline was already trying to get into.  
"BAMF!, wait till we get home will you? I'm as hungry as you are, you know." She looked back over her shoulder as the male's tail stuck out of a plastic bag. The blue-point peeked up through the plastic bag's handles and mewed loudly. She ignored him, and continued to watch the road as Brahms made the transition from the streets onto the dirt road leading back to their home.

September was a good month for a number of reasons. It was leading into Autumn from Summer, so the trees began changing color, which made the farm look extremely elegant in the sunrise and sunsets. It also allowed everyone to be able to see the different types of trees and plants that would otherwise be mixed together until closer inspection was achieved. Camouflage was useless unless someone was a rainbow of hot colors. But one did miss the emerald green of the grass that was natural to the farmland.

Brahms trotted through the dirt quickly, kicking up dust alongside the carriage, while the wheels filled the back. Pocket sat contently between a tray of six pots, three holding miniature bamboo shoots, and three with Venus fly traps. She was a Seal-point, and slightly long-haired. Many breeders pedigreed her as a Balinese, since their owner was prone to breeding them, as well as Siamese and Tonkinese, but this particular Siamese was bred by a history of purebred Siamese. The sight of the longer fur was an astonishment, although it kept her unique. She did not touch the plants, and carried a sense of ownership when laying between them, watching her brother in the plastic bags with a keen eye. Her sister, Knit, a Lilac-point, was pawing at the passing leaves as they dropped from the trees, seemingly suggestively, as if daring her to launch herself right out of the carriage. Her personality was remarkably blonde, but she did not throw herself out of the carriage. Instead, she threw herself in, trying to catch a maple leaf as it drifted over her ears. The last of the four Siamese, the chocolate-point brother, was silent. He was curled tightly up near the front of the carriage, behind two of the plastic bags. One would have called him paranoid, but he was simply cautious; although sometimes it was a bit too cautious. Tumnus was always too cautious, it seemed. Shy and cautious.

Their owner was never prone to calling herself their owner, despite what the papers said. She had always declared herself of the feline faction if anything, and was better off keeping it that way. At the age of eighteen, she had legally changed her name to her dream name and family heritage, Rattlecat T Mandelbrott. Yet still, after doing so, her close friends made it a habit of sticking to her old name, Ash. The Mandelbrotts were a family of felines and equines, and hopefully in the future would extend to sheep and goats, although, as she would say, it was still in planning. When with a group of people, one would of called her outgoing and cheerful, never once giving her mind up to a single black thought unless it was out of amusement and for prank. When away from people, she was normally silent, unless singing in the shower or laughing at a joke a friend stated on the computer. She enjoyed the silence, even though people thought otherwise of her. She enjoyed it mostly for the sake that it allowed her to think. Above all things, she loved to think. Thinking meant exercising the brain over the body, and thinking meant advantage. Thinking meant planning.

For her silence this afternoon, she was thinking. She was thinking of whether or not she was going to attend an Expo for a weekend, leaving her cats here. She'd have to get her good friend to watch them again, and instantly assuming he wouldn't mind---but maybe he would just go with her, which would mean they'd need to find another kittysitter. It wouldn't have been necessary, but timely experience taught her that BAMF! was not to be trusted unlike the counterpart he was named after. He was feisty, fast, and overly intelligent enough to know every trick that would earn him a beating, if ever was done so, in the log home.

At the moment though, BAMF! was meowing again, and as Ash looked back, she noticed he was no longer in the bag, but instead hanging over the edge, meowing at something in the forest. She watched him as Brahms continued on his way, but pulled on the reigns firmly when the cat bolted from the carriage and off into the wood. When the carriage and Fjord had gone silent, she found the cause of the effect, and got down. The other three cats remained behind with the Norwegian, although Knit wasn't doing so merely out of loyalty, but because she had become entangled with Tumnus somehow while chasing the leaf. Pocket stared at them, before looking carelessly away with a look that spoke to Knit with sarcasm.

Ash gave a smug look as she got down and stepped towards the forest. She was use to coming out here, she grew it anyhow, most of it anyway. By now though, it had become quickly infested with weeds and strange plants that must of adapted through the years. Spider webs hung delicately from the leaves, from the trees that remained standing. Four trees however, deeper inside the forest gave off no sort of life, but instead were uprooted and tilting, or completely set over into a bridge. BAMF! ran behind a set of trees, and through a bush before Ash lost sight of him. She started after him at a faster pace, and pushed aside the plant before running into a hard object.

"...Aaaoowwwhh." She dramatically spoke, although it was in a low whisper and she looked down at her knee. It of course, there was a tear where she nailed it against something, but if there was any blood, it wouldn't be seen until later. She was always a slower bleeder than her mother, and like her father, she usually just covered it with something, or left it to bleed slowly until it dried. Looking at what she hit, she saw herself, and realized it was a mirror. As she pulled farther back, BAMF! leaped up, and she jumped. He stood on what looked like the hood of a car, that must of been long abandoned in here. For some reason, it angered her only slightly, and the other part was wonder. She moved around the bush, a stinging beginning in her leg as she realized from the grill that it was a Jeep. A rather old Jeep, but still a Jeep! One of her still good friends loved Jeeps. Always wanted one, never got one. He was a loser like that, but nonetheless, she had always wanted a Jeep too, until that want died out. Now she looked at it, wondering who had driven it here, and who would have dared driven it here.

It was old, and horribly damaged, as if the driver had intentionally driven it through the entire stock of forest just for a hay ride. The windshield was smashed and vines were entwined in it, moss seeped through the hood where it was open. The front bumper was smashed in on the left side, and on the right, it looked as if the wheel had dislodged itself. She pushed around the plants that had grown about it, and saw a nest of ladybugs resting on the seat, the small insects flying and landing everywhere inside. Paint chips were everywhere, and the spare tire hooked to the back was punctured by a thick tree branch. The rear end looked as if it was nailed multiple times in the sides by a Mack truck, and the two back tires were also punctured. She stepped back, grabbing BAMF! from the hood, and took note of the scraped off paint that was slashed in multiple places on it.

She looked at it from a tree she passed, and noticed it looked rather artistic. She'd created a video game in the past that was already online that had a similar setting to it. A forest in which technology was destroyed, and the forest had grown around it, assuming its natural place as leader over man-made items. This made her ponder for a moment, and then she turned to leave, remembering the food in the carriage. Before stepping onto the dirt road however, she glanced back at it, and looked at various landmarks to remember it. Maybe she'd come back to it sometime. She still had a bit of drawing talent in her, why not? Putting BAMF! back into the carriage, she climbed up onto the seat and signaled for Brahms to continue on home.

* * *

"Leave me alone."  
"But--"  
"LEAVE ME ALONE." Cliffjumper shouted at the yellow minibot. Bumblebee backed up significantly, his back hitting the door as it opened with a hiss. He took one glance at the fellow minibot, before he left quickly, almost bumping into Jazz. "Still nothing?" Bumblebee shook his head. Jazz's smile lowered as he and Bumblebee headed back down towards the rec room. They encountered Mirage, who was sitting around a table with Ratchet and Wheeljack. All three of them, including the two entrants were off duty for the evening. Prowl and Prime had left, leaving the chief medical officer and Jazz in charge. There wasn't alot going on at the moment, other than the fact it had been the fourth attempt to rouse Cliffjumper from his bunker. Mirage glanced up, but before he got a chance to ask, both Bumblebee and Jazz shook their heads sullenly. He remained silent.

"I don't get it. It's been three months. There wasn't any sign of him that day, and there isn't any sign of him since those three months. He's..." Wheeljack stopped, his ear panels dimming as he was at a lost for words. The term should of been 'dead', but for some reason even he couldn't bring himself to say it. Ratchet gave a heavy sigh and looked at the large glass of Energon in front of him. He was use to this sort of thing. It'd happened for the last couple of years, and then all the years before that, and the years before that. Sometimes during a battle, Autobots went missing. When they weren't found, they were claimed dead. Every so often, a few would turn up, and everyone would be joyful again, but some didn't. He felt himself sinking as he thought of Cliffjumper being one of those who hoped for the claimed dead to return. Mirage had been one of them, but slowly as the months went on, he accepted it. Cliffjumper was simply having a horrible time of it.

"Sometimes it's hard to get over someone you've known for years, 'Jack." Jazz said, taking a seat himself. "We should all know that." Mirage nodded slowly. He'd gone through what Cliffjumper had, but he was able to fight it off a bit faster than the minibot; but it didn't keep him from ignoring Cliffjumper's feelings, for he had them too. He was only able to fight the guilt that it wasn't his fault he couldn't find Hound simply by being told by Prime and Prowl that Hound was probably content with it. He'd always been in love with Earth, and sometimes a few of the Autobots believed he wanted to be human. Mirage was one of the few that knew he did; it wasn't a belief, it was a wish and reality. But still, it aggravated him that Cliffjumper and he couldn't find him. They were the only ones who'd received, and even heard the distress signal, and yet, even after the thorough search...nothing. Not even a piece to confirm any claim the Autobots put on it. Mirage stood.

"I'm going to go talk to him." He stated, and left before Bumblebee even gave him a word of caution. He made his way to Cliffjumper's bunker, and even as he reached the door, he was speechless. He didn't even have anything to say to cheer up the other 'bot. It would of been wise to just turn around and leave him alone as he's wanted everyone to for the past three months. Cliffjumper would battle, he wasn't excluded from it, but he would do so on his own, and ensure that whoever he took on, it was on his own. His actions were more aggressive, and Mirage could see it was out of pure anger. He wanted to blame it on the Decepticons, claim it their fault. It was their fault anyway, they were the ones who decided to mimic Skywarp's teleportation mechanics, and then use them. It was their fault.

Mirage frowned as he remembered when Cliffjumper had gained hold of Thundercracker, one of the seekers on Megatron's side. He couldn't help but feel just an inch of pity for the jet, even if it was their fault. Cliffjumper had torn the wings until they were nothing but skeletons of metal, and bruised the jet to beyond repair, and he wasn't even conscious when Cliffjumper finished him by throwing him into Starscream, who too was struck with shock over the minibot's anger. Just the sight of Thundercracker's condition forced Megatron to retreat, and Prime had decided that he take a break from battling to come to terms with the present. He still hadn't. Mirage looked at the door, and it opened with its familiar hiss of welcome.

"I thought I told---" Cliffjumper broke his sentence off and held his stance, a miniature rocket in his left hand, ready to be thrown. He faultered as Mirage stood there, then dropped to his knees, the rocket slipping from his hand and rolling across the floor.

"It's my fault..."

- - -

"I hate phones." Ash stated upon answering the phone, walking briskly across the floorboards from the office to the kitchen, and back, four brown tails flittering behind her. "Even with the ringtone I want for them, I hate phones."

"...Hi." A male voice stated lightly on the other end. Caller ID was rather useful, but sometimes people just forgot about it.

"Why do you call me? We have internet." Ash took her seat at the computer and started it up with a few blips and beeps.

"Because I like hearing you, and you sound so cute." The voice said honestly.

"Jacco Thor." She grinned as she typed rapidly across the keys, entering passwords on the seven different websites Firefox had to offer.

"Jetfire." The grin disappeared instantly.

"SKYFIRE." Thor laughed on the other end. "For the past eight years we started this, it's Skyfire. So blah."

"Alright. Rumble is still red though." The chair creaked as she headed back into the kitchen.

"HE'S BLUE. Why are we fighting over this? On the phone nonetheless." She laughed, setting the four plates of food down for the Siamese. They quieted instantly.

"Because it's fun to do. Why do you have a phone anyway?"

"Internet."

"It's 2012. You have cable."

"...Then I refrain from answering that question."


	4. Wake Me Up When September Ends

Whoo. Finally Chapter 4. I've never written so much in a short time in my life. I wrote Chapters 2, 3, and part of 4 in the same night. I'm tired! So here's the entirety of Chapter 4. Enjoy :D! The story is finally picking up.

* * *

**Chapter 4: **_Wake Me Up When September Ends _

* * *

_The rain has an uncanny ability to lighten or darken one's mood. It has the technique of becoming one's friend or one's enemy, and it can be an additional prop to the evening or the mistake upon which the event is cancelled. But it can also be a metaphor in order to recreate and stablize one's life. Either way, rain always falls, and then it is picked up and held, like a baby who's fallen down the stairs. It made a mistake, and fixed it. I loved the rain for this, but I also hated the rain for this._

_I always seemed to hate the rain when I was younger. Perhaps it was because I was forced to trudge through it whenever the school bell was threatening to ring, or the bus was honking its horn. My best friend and I would role play ourselves as characters who disliked the rain because we weren't meant for it. I hated the rain then. When I was older, I grew to love the rain, and it was probably because my love for the sky grew. The rain falling was the stress of the clouds, releasing themselves over the world, and yet blaming no one. They cried to release their stress, to make the yelling at mother nature easier. The rain falling was the burden pouring off of their backs, and it felt good. To blame no one, not even yourself, to just let the rain hit you in the face, as cold as the air could make it felt good. I could cry for whatever reason, even if the tears were of joy. No one would know but me, and sometimes, if the rain fell hard enough, even I could not tell._

_I didn't know it was raining in Oregon as it was raining in Washington. The storm must of been rather huge, and the clouds must of extended very far for it to be raining in both places with the same intensity. There wasn't any thunder, nor was there any lightning, only rain. It began light, and it thickened as the clouds moved in. I left my felines inside, and lead Brahms into his stable along side of my home, and supplied the lot of them with their treats and dinner. And then I ran into the rain with a smile. I didn't have to worry about people watching me, and I didn't have to worry about being penalized for stripping in public, because my home was as private as a home could possibly get in a man-made forest. Although I didn't strip, I was in a rather revealing robe that I loved seeing fly about like wings as I twirled in the weather. It was nothing more than rain, and I probably would of ran out in it even if it was acid. Then again, perhaps not, but still, it would of been quite an adventure had I done so, but I don't think Thor would of appreciated the result if I had called him up telling him I was burned because I ran into the rain naked._

_But I didn't know it was raining in Oregon at the time. I know now, but that was only because he told me. But I never knew that a certain minibot by the name of Cliffjumper was dancing in the rain as I was. While I was running barefoot across the grass of my fifty acres, he was running about the desert near the Ark, the ship they'd travel to Earth in, dancing. Mirage told me he would watch him from the Ark, out of sight. It was the only time he could truly see Cliffjumper happy in the past few months they realized Hound was missing. He would watch him from a tall rock against the volcano, because Cliffjumper would never dance in front of the entrance. Too many chances were to be taken. I don't think he ever confided in anyone about it other than Hound, because he was the one who stated it, but he danced because Hound danced in the rain. He saw humans like myself who would escape the stores of the city; little children who would scream and frolic in laughter as their parents tried to stop them. They would dance in the rain, and act like indians doing the rain dance. Mirage said Cliffjumper was too embarassed to do it, but he'd seen him do it. He'd chuckle, but he enjoyed it._

_It made me wonder then, at the time, how small we were in this world. Robot, beast, or human, how small we were. How many people had danced all over the world the day it rained? How many people really let themselves go, really understood why the clouds cried and why the rain fell? How many people, among the Starscreams, were Hounds or Cliffjumpers, inspired by the Hounds? How many of them were Mirages, watching and smiling, not in mockery or sarcasm, but a pure smile that they could see those whom they loved were happy to be who they were, or who they wanted to be? How many people?_

_Alongside the rain, there is another feature of nature that brings about a strange beauty is the seasons. Many people seem to specify themselves to a certain season. I was born in the summer, and I've been told I'm as bright as the summer, and even some perverse, albeit funny boys told me I'm as hot as the summer. But I've always found myself suitable to the autumn. I was colorful, or so I believed. I seemed to have a personality differential to each of the colors the leaves produced. The leaves were like the rain, but most of all, they were change._

_Change is a wonderful thing, although I didn't feel as if I was ready for change, even though I always believed myself to be. I loved change when it was for the best of things. Cliffjumper hated change when it didn't turn out right for him. I have to admit, I hated it too when I found him. I hated myself. For some reason, when Cliffjumper lost him, and I found him, change seemed for the worst of us, even though as fate would have it, it was for the better when one looked at the bigger picture. But as long as we were both in the smaller pixels, neither of us wanted anything more than to go to sleep. To go to sleep and to wake up when change came, and that change was good. I told my feline friends one night to not disturb me when he was with me. Cliffjumper told Mirage the same thing when he went to his bunk one night._

_"Wake me up when September ends."_

* * *

The rain poured down over the town of Durham, Washington. It extended across the states of Oregon and Washington, but the phone lines and internet connections, if they were anything other than satellite flickered on and off, preventing communication between the two. If any phone calls were made, they were to the phone companies, who quickly assembled a schedule and promised the lines fixed and working as soon as the rain ceased. The majority of the towns were angry, but dealt with it.

Ash stood in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for the cats and Brahms, while the windows were wide open, blinds raised so they could all see the water drenching the outer screens. Knit was bumping her paws against the patio doors, trying to catch the trickles of water as they hit the glass. 'Pat' 'Bump' 'Pat' 'Bump' was the music that echoed from the living room as the dishes and forks clicked. She set them on the table, and each of the felines leaped up. She was still attempted to teach them how to sit properly in the chairs, which may of seemed odd to many people, but she was under determination that cats were just as intelligent as humans, and even more so.

Thor was right in knowing she had the internet because she had cable, hence there was no reason for her to have a phone. But her mother insisted she call her every so often, and she did make business calls when a piece of real estate became available and the internet had no contacts. But on rainy days, she preferred to become absent to both the phone and computer, whether or not they were in working order. This was a day to celebrate Mother Nature's existence. She could spend her entire life on the computer, as she did the first eighteen years. But she had her freedom and her wishes now, and her wish was to dance in the rain. If he really wanted to talk to her so badly, he had her phone number, but that didn't seem to be in working order according to the rain. And then she had a cell phone number, if only her cell had been turned on. If it was an emergency, there was always an hour drive, or a trained owl to deliver something of a message to her.

She'd not change into any clothes, and remained in her yellow bed robe, which was slightly transparent and decorated with silk purple flowers and decals of white calligraphy. After ensuring Brahms was properly fed and groomed, she headed back to her front doors, and opened them, heading outside. Out on the patio, a veil of rain seemed to cover the entire log home, for the rain fell swiftly, and the roof provided excellent watersurfing sport for the droplets. She could hear them laughing as they skiied down the slope, and then they screamed in excitement as they flew off the end and down into the rivers below. Stepping down the ramp and onto the dirt road, which was transforming quickly into mud, she started to spin about, and held her arms outstretched, grinning. It was a matter of seconds before she had gotten her fill of standing, and began running off the muddy road and into the grass. She wasn't a good runner, she never did well in Track or Gym period, even if she did exercise, but that didn't mean she couldn't run until she fell face first ten acres into the fifty. Which she proved she was perfectly content with when she did so ten minutes later.

* * *

Cliffjumper was missing from his bunk. Jazz had questioned Bumblebee, who questioned Prowl, who questioned Prime, who even questioned Wheeljack and Ratchet. When the entire population of the Ark had been questioned, it finally came down to the most obvious of choices, Mirage. He knew where Cliffjumper had went to, but he told Prime without hesitating that it was for him to know only. Prime knew if anyone was going to question Mirage's alliance, even though he would probably hitch a ride back to Cybertron with the Decepticons, it would be Cliffjumper; and if Mirage knew where Cliffjumper was, then he felt there was no need for questioning. Instead, he requested he go to where Cliffjumper is, and ask him to return, or at least watch to ensure no harm came to the minibot. Mirage agreed, and his engine roared as he left the Ark. 

Fifty miles from the location of Mt. St. Hilary, Mirage braked, an imaginary circumference preventing him from going further. There was no need to, so he transformed and made his way up the muddy slope of rocky cliff face. At a spot he found content, he sat down, his legs dangling over the side, and zoomed his optic sensors in on a moving speck in the distance. At about 20x zoom, Cliffjumper became visible.

If anybody other than Mirage was sitting on the ridge, depending on who they were, they may of had different reactions to what the usually tough minibot was doing. Some would have thought he was screaming at the rain that poured down over the barren desert. Some would have said he was fighting an imaginary battle with the Decepticons, probably imagining he was fighting Megatron head on, finishing him off by ripping that spark right out of his evil body, like a spirit a priest had been meaning to deal with. Some would probably say he was frying his circuitry in the rain, and because of it, he was doing wild and insane things. But some, like Mirage, would know he was doing nothing more than dancing.

He may not have had the best voice, any professional singer would critique, but it didn't stop him from singing. Even he, Cliffjumper, would listen in on Jazz and Blaster's musical tunes, and one in particular seemed to suit him in the past three months. He honestly couldn't pinpoint why he sang it, but then again, had Hound still been alive, he probably wouldn't have pinpointed why he would have sang it either. It didn't really matter at times, as long as the beat was good and the music meant something to the specific individual. Mirage watched him, and smiled like a mother whom had heard her child singing in the choir and doing their first solo. He wasn't motherly-like at all, he left that to the musical ones, but he was glad Cliffjumper had something to look forward to. It didn't rain frequently in the desert, Spike had told them recently, and they knew that from how long they'd stayed there. But whenever it did, it became a habit that Cliffjumper went missing.

After a while, Mirage stood, and made his way back down, every so often slipping on the mud as he decended. He had once tried to figure out a day when he would tell Cliffjumper that he watched him dance in the rain, since everyone was worried about him and he volunteered to find him, but Cliffjumper had told him before, although, it was more a hint rather than blunt. He seemed too embarassed or in a state of anger at himself to tell anyone straight out. He transformed at the base of the cliff, and made his way back to the Ark, his satellite picking up strands of Cliffjumper's singing as he drove home. He hoped once again, as he did the last time, that the rain would never stop.

"Here co..es th...e ra..n ag...in..."

* * *

There was a scream of agony that echoed through the metal walls, and there was a bang. Another scream, another bang. It only took moments for Megatron to find the source of the banging and the screaming. Motormaster held Skywarp by the throat, and was shoving him into the wall. As he pulled him away from the wall, he pressed his weight against the jet's wings, ripping them to shreads as a malicious child would tear the wings off of a fly. 

"WHY." He questioned Skywarp, who was slowly turning into nothing but a whimper of words. The jet had lost all his dignity and tried continously to get away, kicking his legs at Motormaster, who promptly grabbed them and rammed him into the wall again. Megatron entered the room, followed by Thundercracker and Starscream. Thundercracker almost stepped forward, seeing Skywarp screech in pain from Motormaster's strength, but withheld himself momentarily. Starscream smirked.

"What's the matter Motormaster? Are we still upset over the missing puppy?" He mocked. Motormaster twitched, and launched Skywarp at Starscream. The mission leader stepped aside, and Skywarp fell onto the ground, skidding to a stop as the wall stopped the flow of momentum. Thundercracker went behind the two leaders towards him. Motormaster snarled and made his way to Starscream, being stopped only by Megatron.

"Enough, Motormaster! Why do you vent your anger on your own when you should be saving it for the enemy?" He questioned the truck. The rig eyed Megatron, and then Skywarp, who flinched when their optics made contact.

"He's not dead. I want him _dead_." He murmured angrily. "No one lives by my hand! I want him _**dead**_!" He repeated, and turned to punch the ground, sending a small quake through the area.

"Maybe if you were a bit faster, he would already _be_ dead, you piece of scrap metal!" Starscream shouted. Megatron grabbed his wing and threw him back and out of the room.

"Quiet!" He growled, turning to Motormaster. "Patience, Motormaster. You will have your chance again, when Dr. Archeville is finished with the teleportation blueprints, we will find him, and we will---" Motormaster interrupted him, lunging.

"_I _want to find him. _I_ want to pull the spark from his shell. _I_ want to kill him." He promised, to both himself and Megatron.

"You shall have your chance. We will all have our chance." Megatron left the room, pushing Starscream out and barking an order to the air commander. Thundercracker lifted Skywarp gingerly and eyed Motormaster threateningly, before leaving. Motormaster shouted and slammed his fist into the nearest wall as the doors hissed shut.

* * *

It was ten past twelve when Ash walked through the doors of her home, mud footprints leading a trail up to her room where she disappeared into a shower. Thirty minutes later, she was mopping up the stains, taking extra care to the stained wood beneath her feet. Ten minutes after that, the clinking of the morning dishes were heard, while the felines sat in their respective seats. Pocket was spread contently on a window seat, a Venus fly trap next to her. Every so often, she would flick her tail at the trap, setting it off. It did not harm her as she flicked the tail away, but she would tell you that she was testing to ensure it was healthy enough to catch its food, which would fly in through the window every so often during the summer months. Knit was sitting in a basket of clothes, chewing a button on a burgundy blouse, and failing at peeling it from its place. Tumnus was among the rafters, having reached them using the stairwell and the banister that overlooked the living room. He balanced delicately among the octagonal headpiece that encompassed the livingroom, stepping lightly on the plastic tracks until he reached the center, where a pillow lay waiting for him. He hurried towards the center as a whistle blew, and a black locomotive chugged by at a brisk speed, pulling along seven golden cars and a small maroon caboose. It trailed around the octagon and Tumnus' homestead, and disappeared off into the laundry room, where it would travel to the kitchen, into a storage closet, and back around to the octagon. 

The last feline, BAMF!, was sitting on a brown velvet sofa, between two blue pillows with fringes, the television's remote placed strategically between his paws. When the objects on the screen annoyed him, he batted at the remote, until a paw found the button to change the channel. Sometimes he'd mistake it for the volume, and the whole house would rumble in sound until he fixed it or until Ash retrieved it from him. At the moment, his head darted in the air as he glanced at the screen. Cats couldn't ever truly see in front of their noses or under, which is why they sniffed first then rooted around for it later. He was looking at the screen, then struck the remote, hitting it to the channel below.

"...Well, thank you and we wish you luck on that journey, Josh! Have you hardcore fans ever gotten angry when your favorite character is turned into a toy that just doesn't dignify the character's appearance? Well, apparently neither---" Ash wiped her hands cleaned and peeked into the living room. "---do the characters themselves! Hasbro Industries was attacked the other evening in Providence, Rhode Island, when Starscream, a Decepticon from the aliens known as Transformers, was fed up with how the famous toy company was marketing his product. Jeff Darrel has more on that story." The blonde reporter nodded her head, a typical newscast cue to run a video, and Jeff Darrel appeared, standing in front of a damaged area of the toy company's storage shed. Ash shook her head, and made a note to talk to Thor about it later as Jeff showed the cameraman and the viewers of the news show around the area, pointing to specific things. In the background, two lamborginis, one red and one yellow sat patiently, until a police vehicle signaled with its lights and the three of them drove away. Ash stared at them, before the report cut back to the news desk, and BAMF! made it a priority to smack the remote and mew until it finally changed to a cartoon, where he became occupied with the colorful objects darting back and forth around the screen. She glanced at the window, where the rain continued to pour down, and nipped her lower lip, questioning herself. Moments later, she disappeared up the stairs to her room to retrieve her sketchbook.

If Tumnus were human, he would of been a toddler who screamed for the mother as she went to retrieve the mail a foot from the door. He bawled, screamed, but he did not claw, and he did not leave the doorstep, even to step onto the patio. Ash looked back at him, the black umbrella, decorated with pinstripes shielding her and her sketchbook materials from the rain. Brahms shook his mane free of droplets, and stared at the source of the crying.

"Come on Tumnus! I'm not interested in your crying today. You either come with me in the rain or you're staying here." She gave him a decision, and he darted his head around, before letting loose a long and rather inappropriate howl of agony. She glanced at Brahms and raised a finger, motioning him to stay, and then headed back up the ramp.

Brahms trotted his way out the lane and onto the dirt road, making his way towards the landmark. A tall Oak tree that had tilted slightly, as if something had struck it harshly on the side in the past, something she never noticed before. He pulled to the right, and turned the carriage around, before parking it next to the tree. Ash left an extra umbrella for him, connecting it to the belt around his neck so that it stood upright and kept his head out of the rain. She then headed into the forest, Tumnus curled up tightly in a brown booksack with the flap removed at her waist, connected to a belt she glued to it. He peeked out of the sack and mewed as she trekked through the plants, looking for the familar shape of a vehicle.

The jeep remained the same as she had seen it two days ago, although its inside was filled with water from the rain. She'd make it quick, since even though she loved the idea of nature's look, the reality of it wasn't as pretty. Bugs and insects of all kinds were crawling over the jeep, including a large spider that had begun weaving its web around the vines and windshield. A sketch would be perfect, if not just random lines that fed her eyes well enough until her imagination could fill the rest in. She'd probably never color it, but she was sure someone else could do that. Checking for ants, she leaned against the tree opposite the jeep's position, and holding the sketchbook in one arm, Tumnus at her waist, and the umbrella between her neck and elbow, she began sketching the jeep itself, before filling around it with the direction of the leaves on the plants, the insects, and the trees that surrounded it.

About an hour in, Tumnus meowed shrilly, and she realized that it must of been getting late, even though the clouds of rain made the time of day indistinguishable. She closed her sketchbook after drawing the scene well enough that she could continue to envision it, and started to head back, but a flash from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Turning back to the jeep, she noticed that the right headlight was dimly lit, and it wouldn't even be noticable had it not been as shadowy in the area. It died out, and lit again, before dying again. The left headlight was shattered, and it looked as if someone had taken a baseball bat through it. She stepped closer, hearing a small chirping noise from inside the cab. She made a face at the spider, and kept her distance as she pushed herself against a bush and the driver side door. Leaning in, she spotted a red light next to the steering wheel blinking, dim as the headlight, and the chirping seemed to be coming from the speaker located next to it. Tumnus mewed, bringing her thoughts from the jeep momentarily, but she leaned forward towards it. Her heart pounded slightly, she really wanted to leave, thinking that someone was watching her. The sound of the speaker and the working light felt like a ghost story to her, and she felt like bolting from the area, the only thing keeping her there was the knowledge that Brahms was only a few inches away and Tumnus was right at their side. Animals could feel any spirits easy, she'd always read and came to understand.

A crackling emitted from the speaker, and what sounded like a voice spoke through it, and Ash flipped out, pushing away from the jeep and bolting away, almost tripping over the tree roots behind her. She parked herself behind a tree, about two feet from the jeep's vision, if it had any.

"Okay, that officially scared the hell out of me." Tumnus mewed in response as she looked down at him. Peeking around the tree, she listened quietly beyond the rain's pat-pat. Apparently, whatever was talking to the jeep was the result of a radio system, which was odd, especially since the jeep looked too old to be in working order period. She finally realized she was alone with her two pets, and moved again to the jeep. A male voice was speaking, but from the rain's interference, it was chopped and hacked, so that only a few words got out. She leaned forward into the jeep, keeping an eye on the Wolf Spider as it weaved its web in the windshield.

"An...es..er...me...und...Ho...nd...ple...se..." A sharp crack yanked Ash away from the jeep, accompanied with a bright spark as it short circuited, and the transmission ended. She stared at it, then turned, quickly making her way out of the forest and back to Brahms. She loaded up, and removed the umbrella from Brahms' belt, and took hold of the reins. For a split moment, she actually considered that the jeep belonged to someone who'd become missing, but nothing was ever on the news or in the papers she purchased from the market when available. Nothing that even remotely considered or was similar to the story the jeep seemed to tell, so she knocked it out of her head. Instead, she pulled back on the reins and stared at the road they'd come down.

The dirt road led towards another small country town, and eventually towards a large lake. Many fishermen and country lovers would use the road other than her, but they turned before they even realized in the midst of the forest there was another road that lead to her home, keeping it private; so it wasn't uncommon that she encountered potholes or ditches from the cars and four-wheel drives digging into the rocks. But the potholes in front of her, although ignorantly invisible on a dry day, weren't made by the vehicles that normally veered down the road. It reminded her of the Godzilla movie in 2000, where the man found himself in a pit, and oblivious to him, found it was a gigantic footprint. She stared at the large pattern of holes in the ground, and turned in her seat, seeing them continue on to the turn. They were large, almost half the length of Brahms' body, and stopped abruptly with two of the holes in symmetrical stance. _Footprints._


	5. Must Be Dreaming

Okay! Short chapter, REALLY short one. x I'm out of ideas on how to exactly make the next chapter progress, so here's a little dialogue bit before I start speeding through time. I locked the plotbunnies in the closet, so, deal with it for right now, since I have to ;.;

* * *

**Chapter 5: **_Must Be Dreaming _

* * *

"Darlin', I honestly don't know where you find these things. I don't know what people you call, or where you travel, but you honestly need to get yourself a new hobby. These cats of yours have got to be brainwashing you into pack-ratting." The short black-haired American Italian wiped the oil off his hands as he glanced at her from over the jeep's cab. Ash sat contently on top of a 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air that was currently on hiatus, so it's paintjob was only partially finished. Tumnus peeked out of his knapsack, and BAMF! shoved him over so he could get a better view of the speaker.

A few phone calls, and even fewer words were all it took in business to successfully arrange a deal. She had learned that way back in high school during her business classes. Although she hated the phone with a passion, unfortuantely it was sometimes the only way to get quick service, and she had made more than the average few that morning in order to get a crew out and retrieve the jeep from the forest. The first few calls apalled her greatly. She didn't want to get rid of the jeep, it looked old enough to be a classic, and to throw something that valuable away would of been homicide and suicide. Later, she was able to successfully pinpoint two tow companies and an environmental service in order to help her peel the jeep from its three month old home in the vegetation. It took six hours to remove it without the environmentalists shouting about poor Wolf Spider's home, and the trees cracking in irritation and argument over being interrupted from their sleep that morning. Finally, after more than enough stress passed through the teams, with Ash's patience slowly flickering, the jeep was removed. She left the service to tend to the forest, and gave them an amount, and told them to do whatever they thought the check would cover. She didn't even bother arguing with them that they really didn't need the money; everyone needed money. Hopping into one of the trucks, she and the jeep were driven past Durham towards Spokane, until they had arrived at Angiulli's automotive shop.

She adored Angiulli. If it wasn't his heritage she was interested in hearing while he fixed up her auction-bought classical cars, then it was nothing but conflict between the two on Nascar races, movies, and then into what the world had to do in order to occupy themselves. She didn't need to go to some fancy restoration home in order to get her cars beautiful and running, she could always come here. She stared at the jeep's grill as he disappeared beneath the undercarriage.

"Do you think you can fix him?"

"Him? You've already got a gender for it and you don't even know what it is yet!" The man laughed from underneath. Ash smirked, but in reality, she decided to call it a him simply because of the fact it reminded her of her brother, with him being in the military and all. That and the crackling of the radio three nights earlier. But she'd keep that to herself for now.

"Well, it's obvious a Jeep from the grill. And Jeeps are usually seen as military, so it's a him. None of my cars are girls anyway." Angiulli's dirty face peeked out from the side behind the right tire.

"What's his name?"

"Won't know yet 'till I drive it."

"Well, it won't be today. Whatever happened to 'him', it'll definitely be a day or two worth of work. I'll have to put all the other projects on hold if you want him done that fast." Ash shrugged.

"Works for me. I'll have to clean a space out in the garage tomorrow then." She stood, Tumnus mewing, and pushed gently on BAMF!'s head as he tried to pop out. Angiulli pulled out from the undercarriage and stood up, glancing at it.

"Mitsubishi."

"I'm not naming him Mitsubishi. Jeeps are American cars." She laughed. He grinned.

"Hey! People name their kids some pretty weird things today." She crossed her arms and glanced over at the jeep curiously.

"What year?" Angiulli cocked his head, and took a good look at it.

"I'd guess, if I had to tell from the position of the headlights on the grill, that it's probably from the 80's. A CJ type maybe, though it's not fixed up enough to see if it's a seven or eight." He tapped the bumper with his shoe. "Old timer!" With a shake of the head, Ash laughed. "It'll be hard to find the parts, but hey, I can do it." He shrugged. "It'll just cost you."

"Find me the price of the Jeep and I'll double it."

"Really?"

"Why not? I seem to put you through enough hell to make it worth your while."

"Done. See you in two days." Ash winked and headed out of the garage and back into the lobby of the shop. Pulling out a cell phone, she dug through the addresses and numbers until she found the right one, and connected. "Hey Thor?" She innocently whined. Tumnus mewed loudly. "I need a ride home."


	6. Hide and Seek

Whooo. Wow, as if this didn't take long enough. I went away for the weekend, and this definitely was pushed until today. After four hours of meandering around, I finally found the Decepticons and Autobots, and they finally decided to cooperate with me in order to write the chapter. I fed them each a plotbunny. Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 6: **_Hide and Seek  
_

* * *

_Dreams were always a curious topic on the minds of many. They're very random, even though upon further analysis, they are simply a group of experiences, wishes, and thoughts the individual has. They are quiet during the day, even when experiencing daydreams, they are quiet and kept away, until they interrupt their slumber by awakening in yours._

_ Sometimes my dreams were vivid, and upon waking in a dark room, I was frightened for the belief that they may of been real. Some dreams I could not tell the difference from real life because unless I gave close inspection to them, I wouldn't see anything out of place. I would envision the entire song, and it wouldn't be until after I awoke and thought back to it, after I declared it strange and bizarre, that I spotted the small voices that were singing acapella, and tore apart the entire reason of why the dream occurred, or how it was not real._

_I once had a dream, back when I was sixteen. I was worried the night before about a homework assignment, and I had gone into planning mode, of the time and the calculated bits and pieces of the school day schedule I had in order to finish it. That night, my mind seemed to process the information and replayed it as a movie in my head. It wasn't until I awoke that I realized, I had never rode the bus to school while chatting to my friends and working on the assignment. The sun hadn't even begun to rise. Later I would pick apart the pieces of the dream, and confirm it wasn't real with some sort of deductive analysis._

_When someone isn't thinking or suffering from dreams themselves, one can't help but wonder about others. When you are unconcious to the world, be it a blow to the head, or a severe tragedy you are completely unaware of the process after you somewhat 'died', do you dream? Does your mind still think, even when you are not awake to do so? It seems like a redundant question, but one has to wonder, if even in a state of slumber by any means necessary, does one dream? Does one have nightmares and visions of their death? Or even more interesting, I believe, is when someone dies. Are they truly ever dead? Or are they in an eternal slumber where the dreams of their lives have simply overcome their normal state of awareness, causing them to forever dream of angels and gods? Do we dream our deaths?_

_Perhaps we are taught all too well, if we were born artists, that our dreams become a reality if we strive for them. Perhaps, as we grow older, these dreams are simply overwhelming, as we realize we are losing our time on whatever planet we inhabit. Perhaps, we are killed by our own dreams, because of their unbelievable, yet inspirable magic tricks of illusion. A friend once believed that death was simply the being waking up from a dream of life. Perhaps, if one can never perhaps too much, but perhaps, dreams are the lives we lead on the plane beneath ours, and the nightmares to us are dreams to them, and our dreams are nightmares to us._

_One can never dream too much of pink ponies and wild cats. One can never dream too much of their death, or of the birth of themselves in another life. One can never dream too much, I was told, and I believed so. But there seems to be a threshold at which one can dream too much of their reality, whether predicting the future or reliving the past. One can go insane simply by believing a dream, when it was infact a reality, thereby causing a disruption in their memory. They forget the difference easily. Hound forgot._

* * *

Hound was a scout. He was one who observed everything, and remembered even more. He was one who had no flaws when it came to research, and he was always more than happy to share the knowledge with other Autobots who were willing to listen. Perceptor mostly. Perceptor had constant debates and ideas and theories with Hound over the science of Earth. There was the belief of Darwin that he'd heard about and read about, but no matter how many books seemed interesting, there seemed to be more to be found by going out and finding it himself. Perceptor was for the books and the experiments, Hound was the one out doing the research for those books. 

When one fails to update a chapter, or fails to carry on the inspiration in order to continue writing the chapter or otherwise, it becomes noticable, whether by many or a select few. Notably, the editors and publishers who made the money from those writings and drafts noticed. Then the phone calls and fight to find the reason, the excuse, the owner of the drafts began. They did not want to lose their reviews. But for some reason, this particular editor didn't even need to pick up the phone in order to know where his client was. He knew exactly where his client was.

Perceptor sat in his microscope mode upon his desk, and if one looked through the eyepiece, they would have seen billions of lifeforms, mostly amoebas, skating across a glass of translucent light and liquid. They were next in line to be evaluated for the entrance to the party, and then it would be a butterfly of unbelieveable size that even Perceptor at first didn't believe it needed to be under his optics. He was unnaturally quiet, he had been as of late; even the usual murmuring and words of encouragement to his specimens or fascinating quotes were lost in the silence.

Bluestreak noticed it instantly. He always took immediate notice of silence when it was creeping into an area, because he feared it greatly. Whenever it came, he would be elsewhere, like air flying into an empty space from a door opening. He disliked silence, and aside from Prime's meetings and the usual shouts of the Lamborghini twins and Ratchet's crankiness, silence engulfed the Ark. He'd consulted with Jazz, who too was beginning to notice it, and they'd sit and talk about everything and nothing, while the stereo was pumping its vibes through the floor of the bunks and the nearby halls. But even Jazz seemed to be pushing a few more nerves and a few more strains on himself to keep smiling, and to keep the other Autobots cheerful. Decepticon activity had grown, and with it, there was no reassurance of his usual tricks actually working. It was more or less, stressful. Life was hiding, and the lifeless were beginning to get tired of seeking.

The silence was broken instantly when Teletran-1 called the Autobots to arms. There was a disruption on a small island forty miles off the coast of Bandon. There was a bit too much activity on such a small island to believe it wasn't the Decepticons. Prime stared over the current reports and nodded to Prowl.

"Let's send a small team. There can't be that many of them on such a small island. Take a few minibots, and three Autobots. Report to me anything you find. Prowl nodded in response and glanced around. "You're going to need air or water transportation." Prime stated. Prowl nodded again, and he eyed a particular Autobot walking into the bay.

"Skyfire! Just the 'bot we're looking for. Care to be our chauffeur this morning?" Skyfire turned and looked at Prowl, smiling.

"Of course. Where to?" Prowl's eyes loomed over the remainder of the Autobot force.

"Cliffjumper, Bumblebee, Mirage, Jazz, and Ratchet. Come with me."

"Skyfire, I'll send coordinates as soon as you're airborne."

"Right." The chosen Autobots and Skyfire stepped out of the Ark, and with the familiar sounds of transformation, made their way to the skies, and out towards the ocean.

* * *

There was a loud humming that vibrated through the soil as a crane pulled the chains with all its strength. The chains in turn clung to their mother, over two thousand pounds of clean cut logs made of Oak and Walnut, as the crane growled and tugged. In success, it lifted both of the nuisances, and lead them through the air before placing them gently on the soft grass thirty acres to the north of the Mandelbrott estates. Four Siamese felines were scrunched up together in a decorated cat bed on Brahms' carriage, watching the movements of the chains swinging to and fro after the logs were released. They watched in earnest, their heads bobbing, wondering if they'd get close enough to catch the silvery danglers. The crane groaned as it went to pick up yet another batch of the logs. 

"Okay, no. I said I wanted the foyer here. And this wall cannot be here, we already talked about the whole thing with the kitchen. It has got to have access to the foyer, and to the patio." Ash's finger slid across the layouts of the cabin blueprints, her other hand marking changes with a pencil. Five months ago she had decided to build four small groups of cabins on ten acres of the land, so that any troubles that came to her friends or fellow relatives, they could live here for a while. She'd always had an issue with people living with her, since her mother always allowed her friends and relatives to just pop in and stay. She was just as generous, but she knew early on that generousity can only go so far. Building the sections of cabins meant they still needed to pay for rent on her land, which she kept reasonable. She had more than enough shipments of food delivered to the house week to week, so groceries would never be a problem. All in all, it seemed like a rather convienent idea. There was a slew of shouting coming from the trucks hauling the lumber, apparently the chains had snagged on a log and refused to budge without extra assistance. Ash eyed them, and then looked at the manager. "If you need any help when your crew calls in sick, tell me alright? I've got a pretty free week." The man nodded, his rather fluffy brown moustache shaking.

"Sure thing, but where are you headed off to in such a rush?" He asked as she turned. She grinned at him and nodded towards the carriage.

"I've got to feed my kids, Rodger. You came so early I hadn't had time to prepare breakfast." He shook his head.

"When are you going to get married and have real kids, my lady?" She stopped and looked at him with a look at meshed disgust and amusement.

"Why in the world would I want to do that? I've got enough money for someone to properly declare me rich, I've four kids which do not talk back and understand their responsibilities, and the most personal life anyone could ever dream for. What makes you think I'm so generous enough to share that?" She grinned. Rodger laughed and shook his head again, waving her off and turning to shout at his employees. Many had called her strange, but unless one spoke to her directly, no one would ever know the truth and false of that assumption. Rodger had learned it early enough, however. Ash leaped up onto the carriage, and with a sniff of the morning air, Brahms took off across the grass and through the fence, winding the way back home.

* * *

"Jazz, you and I will take the eastern side of the island and begin investigating. Bumblebee and Ratchet, if you two would be so kind to take the northern. Skyfire will come in from the south, Mirage and Cliffjumper, you two take the west. Understood?" There was a murmur of acknowledgement from the group, followed by a series of nods. Prowl nodded in return, before heading back to the cockpit to check their coordinates. Mirage watched him leave, before glancing at the rest of them. Jazz was quietly listening to his music, head bobbing to the tunes in his sensors, and Ratchet was working on something in his hand, his mind probably going over the slew of things he had to do when he got back to the Ark. Bumblebee was looking away to the side of Mirage at the little red minibot who had been silent the whole way. The team had tried to conjour up conversation earlier, even Skyfire, but it seemed like none of them had woken up on the right side of the bunk, so he'd quiet himself, content with chatting to Prowl in his cockpit. Mirage looked at him, and then to his right side at Cliffjumper. He nudged him gently, and the minibot gave a little sound of recognition. 

"You alright?" The F-1 racer asked quietly. Cliffjumper nodded slowly, although secretly he wanted to be anywhere else but there. He'd heard Prime question Prowl when they were leaving, but the conversation was lost after he stepped from the Ark with Mirage. Any other normal time, Mirage and Cliffjumper didn't seem like they'd get away with anything together, but the two of them seemed to be in the same boat over the same incident. 'Jumper had quit any accusations of Mirage's help with the Autobots, and if in the rec room anyone else questioned the racer, he'd be on their aft faster than a turbo-fox running from the hunt. In turn, Mirage had been more in-tune with the difficulties 'Jumper was going through, and had lended his help without questioning himself or doing it for himself. Everything seemed genuine.

"I doubt Thundercracker's going to be in this fight. Probably too scared of you." Mirage chuckled. Cliffjumper looked at him and chuckled with him, smiling. Bumblebee smiled in satisfaction that Cliffjumper was cheering up, and sat back in his seat as Skyfire reached the island.

The process only took a few minutes, with Skyfire decending rapidly towards the ocean in order to keep himself out of the sight of any Decepticons. The overgrown vegetation of the island protected his white bulk as he hovered and dropped Autobots off on various shores, chauffeuring Mirage and Cliffjumper onto the western shore before heading towards the south himself. The two 'bots looked around before disappearing into the environment. A short time later, the entire island shook with movement.

Explosions. Eruptions. Earthquakes. All three of the most significant and dangerous E-lettered terms seemed to rack themselves through the island. Megatron fired another shot at Skyfire as the jet dived out of the way. He caught himself before he hit the earth, and spun back into the air, and a stray shot slashed through one of his tailfins. Shouting, he nosedived again towards the earth, transforming and skidding into the hardened sand. He stood, and looked around for the culprit, scanning the area. Megatron had disappeared back into the white dome of the research center.

They'd begun shipping loads of energy directly to their base using the solar panels the research dome had constructed in it's architecture. Solar energy was one way to go about it, and it seemed a perfect transition from robbing the universe of energy; but then again, the last thing the Autobots needed was Megatron getting the bright idea of hoisting a gigantic star towards Cybertron in order to force it to submit as a supernova so that the energy could be collected. Although, there were enough stars in the universe to keep Megatron occupied for the while.

Prowl shook his head at the thought as he fired at Thundercracker, the jet careening through the air and dropping four of the Energon cubes he had held not-so-tightly as before. Occupied or not, Megatron was rather easy to get out of the way on these sort of missions. It was moreso Starscream everyone would have to worry about then. It was a shame even Megatron had to worry about his second-in-command, come to think of it. But nonetheless, both of them had to be stopped. It would be over if the two of them were destroyed. The rest of the Decepticons were too dependent on someone else to help them organize and manage, so they'd most likely fall into the crowd. But still, it was all completely illogical as Prowl fired at the jet again. They had to defeat what they could of any trouble with the Decepticons, or any menace whenever the wars were over. It had been what they had become.

Jazz sped through the brush, being followed closely by an space shuttle that couldn't dive through the trees in order to attack him. The Porsche was ignoring the shuttle almost completely, which irritated Astrotrain even further, but still he stalled, not diving through the canopies. Amazingly enough, the Decepticon thought better of the environment, or maybe he just thought he'd be lead into a trap. Instead, Jazz had taken the virtue of singing, and although he was shouting nearly at the top of the human's term for lungs, he kept right on pitch, and the beat and rhythm flowed delicately after him as he swung from side to side, missing the trees by inches. At one point he'd almost nailed his driver side mirror on the side of a palm, but dived to the right just in time. But it was more important that he was ignoring Astrotrain. Astrotrain found that most important, and it irritated him and angered him. He started firing at the Porsche, but still he was ignored, ignored for a bit of REM, needless to say. Jazz's cries of "Lenny Bruce" and the "end of the world" seemed to interest Astrotrain slightly; and only slightly, because as soon as Jazz shouted, "I feel fine!" the shuttle was enraged that he felt so, despite it was only a line of the song.

It made Bumblebee wonder if Astrotrain knew the Porsche was sending him in circles, literally. He watched from the top of the dome as the two spun in what seemed like the fifteenth circle around the entire vicinity, and Jazz's music blared from all sides as he once again passed the world record for multi-tasking. Bumblebee didn't believe there was a human, nor car, who had yet sung as fast as Blurr, screamed loudly on pitch, and drove his enemy in circles on top of it. He turned to Ratchet, who was working on disabling the solar panels from the rest of the building's systems. The medic cursed loudly, making the minibot jump slightly. Ratchet flexed his hand, muttering something about static electricity, before going back to work. Bumblebee felt awkward sitting there, not really helping, but the medic claimed he knew what he was doing, and that was all Bumblebee needed to hear as it translated both ways to "Stay out of my way." and "Don't bother me." He turned back to watch Jazz, who'd finally taken off from the circle while screaming "And I decline!", and had made it a motivational goal to skid out onto the shores of the island and proceed to create an even larger circle. Astrotrain had to spin out twice before realizing where the Porsche had disappeared to, before following him like a lost puppy.

Mirage slipped inside the lab, Cliffjumper close behind, and the two of them looked around the very bland white room. In one corner, there were what seemed to be twenty some transparent cases holding packs of white rats. The squeaking filled the room beside the natural humming of machinery. Out of all the things Megatron could of attacked, it had to be some testing research center. The only thing that attracted the Decepticon to the area had been the use of solar panels in order to power the entire laboratory, which apparently was impressive; Megatron would of went with other forms of energy in order to take over the universe if there had been something better. There was a screeching sound, and Mirage grabbed Cliffjumper, ducking out of the room as Laserbeak flew in, followed by Ravage, who growled angrily at the scents his sensors were picking up. Cliffjumper snarled in return, and launched himself at the panther. Mirage took on Laserbeak, but the cassette easily manuevered himself out of the way, screeching and clawing at Mirage's exterior.

"Get back here, you scaredy cat!" Cliffjumper shouted, his fist raised after the black panther had bolted from the room. He followed after him, and stumbled, tripping over something. He looked up and saw Ravage standing there next to Soundwave, growling at him. The minibot sought to get up, but a hand picked him up from the back, and he came face to face with Motormaster.

"What do we have here?" He breathed, eyeing Cliffjumper hungrily. "A white rat." Cliffjumper struggled, but with a laugh Motormaster threw him into the wall, before stepping towards him. Anyone could tell size was immediately intimidating as the truck reached him. Mirage barged out of the room onto the scene, Laserbeak screeching in his hand, flailing his wings. He noticed Motormaster cornering Cliffjumper, and then threw the bird at Soundwave, who failed to catch him in time and flew to the floor, the cassette nailing him in the chest. Ravage roared and ran over to them, while Mirage went after Motormaster. The truck was not caught off guard however, and he swung a hand back, sending the racer into the wall with a loud grunt. "TWO white rats! Finally, Megatron's actually impressing me."

"White rat, my aft!" Cliffjumper lunged at Motormaster, grabbing a hold of his leg. The truck looked down at him and couldn't supress a loud laugh. He grabbed the minibot again, and held him out from his body. Mirage stood, a little wobbily, but launched himself onto Motormaster's back, who let out yet another chuckle of amusement. It was beginning to irritate Cliffjumper immensely. "You two are as rambunctious and idiotic as your fellow Autobots." He growled. With his free hand, he picked Mirage from his back, and slammed the both of them into the wall, his hands around their necks. "But I'll actually give you a chance to live."

"...What?" Mirage stopped struggling and gazed at the truck. Cliffjumper attempted to gnaw at his hand.

"I'm looking for a friend of yours. He still deserves a death certificate from me." Revenge. Mirage made a face. Revenge was all the other Decepticons ran on. Megatron and Starscream wanted something different, but the other Decepticons would fall apart because they only wanted revenge, which in most cases, killed them while attempting to do so. Motormaster pushed his body weight onto the two, and demanded again. Mirage shook his head, apparently he'd been asked once, but the lack of energon being able to travel freely in his mainframe caused him to black out while thinking.

"WHERE IS THE JEEP?!" Motormaster snarled again. Cliffjumper stopped struggling instantly, and stared at the truck. Mirage stalled too. With a shout, the Decepticon heaved the both of them across the room, where they slid with anything but grace into a wall of file cabinets. Papers flew about as the drawers were forced open from their locks, and the sound of crunching metal became the fate of the ones beneath the two Autobots. Cliffjumper laid there momentarily, a look of complete surprise on his face. Mirage sat up, holding onto a crushed file cabinet for support, his sensors ringing.

"...Hound..." Cliffjumper stated blandly. Mirage looked down at him as the minibot laid there on his side, staring at what seemed to be Motormaster's feet.

"Is that his name? He's got the name of a domesticated beast of this planet?" Motormaster let out his trademark laugh. It was becoming extraordinarily annoying, no matter how geniune it it seemed to be. "What idiots, you are. He was a petrified one then. Didn't even fire a shot at me." He grinned at the two 'bots, his optics glistening. Mirage stared at Cliffjumper, which sent a twinge of irritation through Motormaster, although he kept his posture and expression. Cliffjumper laid there for what seemed like hours to the both of them, nothing, not even the humming of any machines were making a single noise. It seemed Ratchet had disabled the solar panels after all. Unfortuantely, the silence signalled to Mirage that Soundwave and his cassettes had disappeared from the room as well, but there were no sounds of battle. There was absolutely nothing. If it weren't for the sounds of his insides, he would of believed he had went deaf. Otherwise, there was silence. Complete silence.

The calm before the storm. That's how any of the poetic Autobots would of put it. It was the silence of the winds before the hurricane's eye moved forward, and the eyelid itself closed, causing an eruption of shouts and screams, followed by the malicious tearing of cement and tree root. It was the small ticking of the Grandfather clocks, before the bells rang out the number the hands pointed to. It was the shutting of the door before the drunken husband fought with the wife. It was the silence that annoyed Bluestreak, but that silence came after the storm was over. It was the silence that came after the events. That silence Mirage hated. He hated it because in that moment, he suffered from visions just like Bluestreak would of before he launched into a random chatter. But these visions weren't of Cybertron, they were of Earth. They were of the same moment Cliffjumper attacked Thundercracker and not only clipped his wings, but stripped them completely off of the poor Decepticon.

But with the vision Mirage suffered from, instead of Thundercracker, Motormaster had filled his place, and the screams were Motormaster's, instead of Thundercracker's. He could do nothing but watch the minibot attack the truck, he was dumbfounded, needless to say. There was a minibot taking on a completely full-fledged Decepticon, one who enjoyed the pain for pleasure, and here he was screaming in the pain, the entire role reversed, while Cliffjumper screamed at him angrily, grabbing a hold of wires from Motormaster's chest and yanking on them. He was too close to the Decepticon's spark, and the enemy knew it.

"What did you do to him?" Cliffjumper screamed again, and he yanked on the wires harder, causing an ear-splitting scream from Motormaster. The wires must of belonged to his motor functions, because his arms had been registered useless, and he was now laying against the wall while Cliffjumper clawed at him. The truck glared angrily at the minibot.

"I left him like an idiot! I should of killed him! Where is he?" Motormaster snarled, and he lifted his leg, nailing Cliffjumper in the back. It temporarily paralyzed the minibot, and in result he fell off of him and hit the ground. Mirage stood abruptly.

"He's dead." He stated. Cliffjumper cringed and shook his head in disbelief, curling up, his hands on his sensors. Motormaster looked at Mirage.

"By who? I want to kill him! _I_ want to see him dead!" He pushed himself against the wall, using it as a support for his back. Mirage walked over to Cliffjumper and kneeled.

"He's been dead, Motormaster. He's been dead for three months." Motormaster stared at the two Autobots. There was no possible way for any of the Decepticons to have denied him his wishes. He wanted to see Hound die by his hands, no one else's. Three months...The Autobot had to of been lying. Prowl, Ratchet, Bumblebee, and Jazz ran into the room, weapons at the ready.

"The Decepticons are attempting to retreat! Skyfire's already after them, and---" Prowl paused momentarily, seeing Mirage and Cliffjumper on the floor. In the corner, Motormaster laid there, sparking every so often from Cliffjumper's attack. The truck however seemed deep in conversation, and ignored them.

"You're lying." He seethed at Mirage. "Three months ago was when I attacked him. He turned on the damn road before I could get him, and I spun out. He got away from me!" He barked. Mirage sat there, with Cliffjumper in his arms. The both of them looked stunned at the Decepticon. Cliffjumper attempted to make a comment, but he could only mouth the words he wanted to say. Mirage stared.

"...Where...?" He got out after a moment of silence. Prowl would of aimed his gun at Motormaster, but it seemed it wouldn't of made much difference to the damage already done. Instead, the four Autobots stood there.

"I don't know where. I figured he retreated. I teleported back to the base when Megatron contacted me." Motormaster finished the conversation, confirming the fact. Mirage held tight to Cliffjumper, in case the stun wore off and another rabid attack would of been made on the Decepticon. Prowl held up his arm and pressed a button that connected back to Teletran-1 and the Ark.

"Mission report, Prowl." Prime's voice echoed through the room. Prowl shook his head momentarily in order to restore his sense of logic.  
"The Decepticons retreated, but we've got Motormaster. He..." Prowl was lost for words. "Hound isn't deceased. He came here looking for him..." There was that silence again.

"Secure him and bring him to the Ark. Get the troops and bring them home. We need to interrogate him, and establish a search party." Prime ordered. Prowl nodded, while Jazz pulled out his grappling hook in order to use it as a temporary bind for Motormaster. Mirage carefully, still holding Cliffjumper.

"Come on, we've got to get back to Skyfire." Mirage murmured to Cliffjumper. The minibot nodded slowly, still staring at Motormaster, before turning and leaving with him to outside of the vicinity. Ratchet took note of Cliffjumper limping; He seemed unable to walk on his left leg completely. Turning, the medic followed after him while the other three stayed and grabbed Motormaster, who grunted in resistance, although very little. He eyed Bumblebee particularly, as if believing he was the brother to Cliffjumper, and believing he was just as capable of tearing him up as Cliffjumper had been. Soon, the lot of them had boarded Skyfire, and began flying home.

Ash leaned forward in her chair, and it creaked slightly in response to the change in weight. Her hands split her hair, sending strands into various directions, and she heaved a sigh. Pocket mewed softly next to her, brushing a bamboo shoot with her tail lightly. She had wanted to take a nap, just a small one, while working on a piece online. Because Rodger had called her so early, she was up early, and by the afternoon after working hard on the house and exchanging calls between her and Rodger, she was exhausted. But she had to stay up, at least for another hour. She wanted to reach a certain spot on her piece, while at the same time she simply couldn't sleep because the delivery truck was supposed to arrive with the week's load of food, and she was rather hungry. Pocket mewed again, obviously asking a question and wanting a response. She removed a hand from her hair and scratched behind Pocket's ear.

"No headache this time, girl. Just tired, but we have a grocery truck to unload, and then organize, and then put away." Normally she'd be ecstatic to do such a thing, as it kept her busy and occupied, but she really just wanted to go to bed. There was a knock at the door, and she leapt from her seat, bolting towards it.

The door itself was extraordinary. It had a slew of designs, and unless one had been the creator, no one would of known what was on it. Since she had designed it, and had it been custom made, she knew very well that the designs depicted an epic battle between a strange cat of the night and a strange cat of the day. They were situated inside of a circle, with only a large mahogany knot seperating them from each other in the center. The circle itself was not complete, but made of short dashes. An aerial view of Stonehenge. Outside of the circle there were three more cats on each side. Two cats swam in a river around the circle, while two flew by lightning and clouds. Near the bottom, the last two fought off in an unbelievable vat of lava and fire. On either side, vertically written in an ancient hieroglyphic language, were two words. The left side said, "Carnival", while the right said "Dancers".

The meaning seemed obsolete to the delivery man, Johnothan, as he lifted his foot and went to knock firmly on the decorated door again. Instead, it opened, and Ash grabbed the bags from him with a brisk word of thanks. Before he had a chance to say anything, she disappeared back into the house. Tumnus trotted towards the open door and looked up at the awkwardly uniformed human, meowing.

"Busy, much?" Johnothan questioned the cat before going back to the truck to retrieve more. A short blur dashed past him, beating him to the truck.

"No. Just really tired and wanting to eat before I pass out on the sofa, or the bed, or the floor, or on my cats." Came the reply, and Ash emerged from the back carrying six plastic bags of food on each arm. He hurried over and attempted to take two bags from her, but she refused, and walked just as quickly back inside to drop them off. He shook his head as he reached into the back of the truck for the rest of the bags. Most of them seemed to hold boxes, which held cans, which held the name Fancy Feast, which held food, very delicious food, as Tumnus commented once before with a flick of his tail.

Inside the house, plastic bags rustled and thumps were heard every now and then as she quickly unpacked the bags, rolled them up, and shoved them into a bamboo box sitting beside the counter. Johnothan walked in, Tumnus dipping in and out of his legs, and cautiously made his way to the counters to set the bags down. BAMF! lunged from the top of a cabinet with a mew, grabbing a hold of the brown hat he wore. The Siamese then left the hat on the ground for him to pick up, while he himself made the goal of getting up onto the counter to retrieve the cans which he knew held his dinner.

"Need me to help put away things for you?" He questioned her. She stopped for a moment, but only a moment.

"Sure." She said, emptying another bag. Usually, she would of denied any help, even from Thor, on doing anything in the house. She kept herself proud and occupied with the fact she could have such an estate, and succeed in managing it in pristine condition. Whenever her parents had purchased groceries, she would occasionally tell them to go into the living room while she brought everything in and put it away properly. It kept her from having to listen to her mother's usual rants of how her husband wouldn't help or question about how her weekend was, which she didn't feel like chatting about. With independence came the need for privacy and the belief of personalizing. Ash took that in high respects. However, as tired as she was at the moment, extra help seemed very tempting at the time, so she accepted. A few minutes later, everything was packed away, and she was waving a goodbye to him as the truck pulled away. She shut the door and barely took a step before opening it again. Tumnus skittered in, and the door closed. She sighed heavily in relief, and with her last burst of energy shot towards the staircase to her room, a tail trailing after her.


	7. Cumulus

Oh no. Oh no no no. Good lord no. Hound woke up:O

* * *

**Chapter 7:** _Cumulus  
_

* * *

Mirage felt like a mother again. It was hard not to when you had a minibot in your lap, shut down after a previous and rather upsetting display of what humans called an 'emotional breakdown'. Cliffjumper was dead to the world at the moment, his upper half laying in Mirage's lap on the fly home. Jazz and Ratchet had attempted to aid Mirage in consoling him, but it did no good, until Ratchet finally had to force him into shutting down. He glanced down at the 'bot, and shifted his knees so that they were in a more comfortable position. Ratchet was in a chair across from the two, leaning back with a hand hiding his optics. He looked completely stressed out, but at least he was taking it better than Cliffjumper had, if that was what he was indeed refering to. Bumblebee had looked a few times, but then it dimmed down to him just peeking every so often, ensuring they were alright, before he returned to his seat. 

Silence was an understatement to what the interior of Skyfire was experiencing. Even Motormaster, who'd been in the cockpit under the watch of Prowl had been strangely silent, probably contemplating over the state of Hound, and if what the Autobots had said were true about him. It had to have been a lie. There was absolutely no way, according to the calculations he was making, that Hound could have been dead. Unless some random Decepticon teleported after he had left and finished the job. Impossible.

Mirage looked at his hand, and pulled out a shard from the file cabinets, dropping it onto the floor carelessly. He rubbed the spot gently and looked back at Cliffjumper. Ratchet raised his hand slowly, and leaned forward, taking Mirage's and checking it for other shards. Sometimes the habits of a medic were annoying.

"Do you believe him?" Mirage's voice cut quietly through the silence. Ratchet picked out another shard.

"I don't know. It may of just been a play." The medic replied, and Mirage shook his head slowly.

"...He's not smart enough for it...And just the..." Mirage cut himself off. It seemed too genuine of a conversation for Motormaster to have made the entire play up, not by himself anyway. The Decepticon seemed intent on finding Hound, so it couldn't of just been a rouse in order to get the Autobots to do anything.

"If Hound was alive, don't you think he would of contacted us somehow?" Jazz questioned cautiously. He had lowered the volume on his headset in order to hear what Mirage was mouthing to Ratchet earlier. Mirage looked at him.

"I would've thought so. Hound loves this planet, but still, he's too loyal to the cause to just disappear without at least trying to explain to us. He would of had to come out sooner or later." Ratchet pulled back as Mirage replied to Jazz, removing the last shard he could find in the 'bot's hand. He gave a sigh.

"The only other reason would be he's shut down. He may be saving energy, or he may be out of it, or he was forcibly sh--" Ratchet stopped himself. There were rare times when saying something became sensitive to one of the other Autobots; but because they were rare, everyone could pinpoint them. With Bluestreak, it was better not to mention Cybertron, or moreso, anything remotely similar to the city he lived in. With Sunstreaker, it was better to keep silent about his complaints of paint jobs and vanity. With Jazz, it was better to remove the memory of him being shackled and interrogated to the point of breaking. Ratchet stopped speaking, sparing himself a glance at Jazz. The visors may of hid the Porsche's optics, but it didn't mean he couldn't feel him looking at him, smile or not. Prowl may have had the medic's head, then.

"He sent a distress signal. Meaning he must of been low on energy. If Motormaster did encounter him, it could of been before or after they had fought. He may have hid, but the signal could have sapped the rest of the energy from him...which means he didn't have much." Mirage stated. Jazz nodded. A short moment later, Skyfire alerted that they were arriving back at the Ark.

* * *

There was a small click, and then another. Another. Another. It was getting just a tad annoying, but nothing so much that it would of set him on end. Another. Another. Perhaps it could set him on end. Another. Yes, it definitely set him on end. He revved his engine quietly, testing the fuel pumps and then slid forward and quickly back, testing the hydraulics. Another. He heard it, he heard it. He didn't need another reminder. He sat back down and sunk towards the ground, testing his sensors. Another. Audio was obviously working. There was a loud click, followed by what sounded like a miniature missle hitting a house in fast-forward. It was a loud sharp whistle-like sound, and there was a screen of many colors. Each of them seemed to dive into a shape, and then shadows and lightning were added in. The screen showed amazing objects, absolutely amazing things he'd never seen before. One wall was filled with masks, each decorated creatively and some had expressions that made him chuckle. His scanners skimmed over each of them, until it came to a stop on one. His expression faultered, and he looked at the mask contemplating. He jumped as a voice shouted towards the right of him. 

"Ring, ring, ring! Phone call! Phone call! Ring, ring, ring! Phone call! Phone call!" Ash grunted, and forced herself up from the bed. She stumbled down the stairway, and shoved open another door that was similar to the front door, but with a significantly different meaning. Inside, she flicked on the light and glared at the white phone sitting atop the desk. Stepping over to it, she squinted at the caller ID and then grabbed the phone, turning and leaning on the end of the desk.

"Hello, you've reached the Rattlecat-Is-Awake-And-Not-Happy Hotline. Please press 1 if you wish to speak to a disgruntled beast, press 2 if you wish to speak to a civilized human being, press 3 if you wish to speak to a robot, and hang up if you wish to keep your life as beautiful as it is. The latter is recommended."

"Hi Ash."  
"Hello Angiulli."  
"Interesting way of saying hello, no? I thought you saved those for the answering machine messages?"  
"You woke me up."  
"Reasonable. I got your plates and tags in today, just wanted to tell you in case you felt like coming up here."  
"Mail them."  
"Done. How's your boy doing?"  
"Which one?"  
"The one without fur."

"Oh. Him. Yeah, he's doing fine." Ash looked over at the Jeep as it sat on a lush green and gold trimmed rug near the office window. He looked so much better as a home ornament then as a driving vehicle, now that Angiulli had fixed, trimmed, and polished his exterior as well as his interior. He'd even done the good favor of stashing twenty forest green air fresheners in the glove box and white fuzzy dice from the mirror. Ash had purchased a few military stars and replaced them on him, as Angiulli had pointed out the rusted decals on the old body in the workshop. She nodded to the jeep as she pressed the phone to her ear lazily. "You're doin' alright, aren't you?"

"I guess so." Hound hesitated, pondering an answer, but realized he obviously had nothing to hide, considering she had questioned him. Ash paused, staring at the jeep. After regaining her posture, she realized Angiulli was talking.

"Hey hun, do me a favor. Call me back in three days. Something just came up. Alright? Alright. Bye." The phone clicked as it hit the receiver, and she looked at the jeep. Slowly, she walked over towards it, looking around. "Okay, now I know I am drinking too much hot cocoa." Hound laughed, and Ash fell back onto the floor. She rolled over quickly and looked underneath of the jeep.

"You drink that in the fall? Spike and his dad usually drink alot of it in the winter." He replied. She grabbed a hold of his front bumper and looked at the undercarriage.

"A ha, ha, Angiulli. Make me lose my skin by installing some box that replies to my voice like Ken Sansom. REAL funny. I'll have your Italian ass before daybreak tomorrow."

"Hey, that tickles a bit." Hound chuckled. "He does a pretty good impression though. I wish I could give him my compliments...what are you doing?" Ash pulled back from underneath and eyed the grill.

"What is my name." She stated it more than questioned. Hound scanned her over.

"I don't know. You haven't told me." She eyed him, her heart starting to beat slightly faster. She made a face and mentally forced it to stop.

"What is your name." Inside, she pretended that he would just stop talking. Maybe she was asleep, and this was a dream. She'd done that before. She grabbed her arm and pinched. It seemed a bit stupid, but then again, she could feel pain in her dreams too.

"Hound." There was a meow, and the both of them looked towards its source. Tumnus sat contently, flicking his tail delicately in the doorway. The Siamese watched her hit the floor, and meowed again.

* * *

Motormaster sat glaring at the doorway to the so-called prison. In reality it was just an empty storage cell they'd set him inside until Prime had a decent chat with the Autobots, Cliffjumper was deemed alright, Ratchet had gotten everyone repaired and out, especially Mirage and the minibot, and an interrogation plan was in order. He kicked at the doorway again, but as the many times before, it refused to open. He was left unrepaired, at least for the time being. In an Earth hour or two, Ratchet would barge through the doors in anything but a happy mood, except for the internal one that jumped around like a wild chibi panda bear. That one was always happy to repair anyone that needed to be repaired. Even when Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were in his medbay the panda bear jumped, and at point, it seemed a little annoying. He had tried to kill it once, but it had a keen sense of knowing when it was going to die, and instead lodged itself into his head, and roll around doing somersaults and squeeing until the medic had decided to leave it alone. Sometimes, the habits of a medic were annoying. 

He looked at the doors, seething, but made no attempt to move. His arms were useless at the moment, what with the damage Cliffjumper had done to him. Apparently he had hit a rather sensitive wire when mentioning the jeep to him. This left a cruel grin on Motormaster's face. He chuckled quietly at the idea that they were lovers, and he had taken the Romeo away. He kicked like a joyous child who had just seen ants burn underneath a magnifying glass, laughing.

Outside, Bluestreak shifted his weight to another foot nervously upon hearing the laughter inside. Out of all the 'bots to put in guard duty, he was the one Prime had chosen. He could of at least put Jazz with him, or anyone really. Instead, he was there to pace alone and start conversations with himself, but he had stopped when he heard Motormaster chuckling. It broke the silence, but the feeling of being attacked wasn't one he wanted to go with either. A chill shot through his spark everytime he heard the laughter, and he tried to pace and stomp his feet louder in order to block it out and talk to himself again.

"He could of just put Sideswipe and Sunstreaker out here with me at least to give me some company. They're always good company. Maybe we could graffiti the door and make one of those pretty collages that Sunstreaker knows how to do. The ones without the blood and the gore and the disturbing images of innocent people being destroyed..." He stopped himself in mid-sentence, and his wings twitched noticably. A moment later he stomped and paced again. "Or maybe just having the brothers stand guard here instead of me would of been so much better. They seem to do a better job at it anyway. Like the one time we got a hold of the cassettes from the Decepticons and we were able to get them to talk just because the brothers were insisting that they all get drunk together..." Another stop, twitch, stomp, then pace. "Decepticons must not like to get drunk. They were really eager to talk then when they were subject to the idea of drinking. Maybe Megatron teaches them not to get drunk. Or maybe---"

"--Maybe you need some company." Jazz's melodic voice traveled down the hall and his silhouette stepped from the dim lighting. Bluestreak stopped, his wings twitched considerably, and he sat down as if he were a dog about to be disciplined. The Porsche looked down at him. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. I'm pretty fine for someone who has to watch over a maniac of a Decepticon that's twice as tall and three times as mean, or maybe four times mean but you know what I mean, right?" The Datsun looked up at him curiously, his expression almost begging Jazz to agree with him. He chuckled and nodded, sitting down with him.

"I know what you mean. Need some music?" Bluestreak nodded in earnest.

"Yes. Music and chat. That's always a good combination. It's much better than the conversation I've been getting. I mean, hearing a Decepticon laugh, especially Motormaster, isn't too relaxing to hear or soothing at all. It's really---" There was a loud bang from the door, causing Jazz and Bluestreak to look up. The Datsun's wings twitched abruptly again as soon as a loud cackle pursued the bang. Motormaster was attempting to scare the poor spark out of Bluestreak. Jazz glanced at him. It seemed to be working.

"Don't pay any attention to him. He's just trying to scare ya, Blue."

"It's working." The Datsun replied hastily, confirming the Porsche's thoughts.


End file.
